


Arthur Bailey Does One Gay Thing Per Episode (Blood Drive: A Chapter Every Episode)

by sandpapersnowman



Series: A Chapter Every Episode (Multiple Shows) [2]
Category: Blood Drive (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-11-23 09:19:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: The year is 1999, and Arthur Bailey wouldn't call himselfstraight, necessarily.





	1. The F***ing Cop

**Author's Note:**

> the first three chapters were originally posted [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11203395), [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11275758), and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11366391), and then i realized there was absolutely no way i could name 13 fics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11203395) before i realized it was unrealistic to name thirteen damn fics

The campground will hold everyone, one way or the other. He thinks about sticking around his partner, but he'll be around her all day for the foreseeable future, so... He may as well take some time to himself.

He ducks into a tent that's somehow blessedly empty, and takes a moment to look up where the canvas pulls into a pole. He takes a deep breath, and another, and lets the weight of the day's events crush it back out of him.

How the  _fuck_  did he end up here?

"I know it's a lot to take in," someone purrs behind him. "It feels like more than you can handle now, but just wait until things get all wet and messy."

There's a knife at his throat. Black fingertips. Slink.

"It makes the ride  _so_  much smoother," he whispers, right against his ear, and he tinges red at the innuendo he's realized each word has been laced with.

"Let go of me. I'm going to bed."

"Without me?" Slink jokes, but pulls away from him.

"I'm a cop," he reminds him again, but something about his voice sounds unconvinced. Is he even a cop, after today? After what he's seen, and done?

Slink reaches out while he's distracted, grabs his jaw and runs a thumb over his mouth.

"That's good. I don't think you'd like  _my_  handcuffs, anyway."

Arthur jerks away and steps back. He doesn't have any weapon he could use, nothing that would do enough damage to let him get away, anyway --

\-- and then he remembers the knife through Slink's hand. How it hardly phased him, how he'd pushed it back out like --

\-- like something obscene, he thinks instead, rather than letting this place get to him. He's seen more dicks today than in five years of station locker room showers. He'd rather them stay out of his head, too.

"Get your rest," Slink says. Something like disgust lines the command, as though sleep is something Slink is somehow  _above_. "You'll need it."

He's gone just as quickly as he'd come -- as quickly as he'd walked in, not come.

Maybe the implant is messing with him.

Maybe he just needs sleep.


	2. Welcome to Pixie Swallow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11275758)

He feels bad for him. At first he thought the Scholar was the guy's son or something, but then he'd seen them all over each other at the tents the first night.

The Scholar seems nice, y'know? Arthur's met enough people on the spectrum to get the autism vibe when it's there, and besides the fact that the kid is like a scrawny little engine-fixing god, Arthur would put his money on childhood trauma, too.

This race brings out the worst in everyone, apparently.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. He does accept a cup of coffee now, even if he isn't going to drink it. The Scholar seems to appreciate the gesture, and grins to himself.

"No," he says honestly. "Just wanted to get some coffee."

Arthur nods.

"Are you and Grace together?" the Scholar asks.

Arthur laughs.

"I don't think so," he admits. "She's got a lot going on, and I'm... A cop."

The Scholar smiles.

"Yeah."

Arthur takes a sip of the coffee. It's really not that bad, even if the caffeine might keep him up longer than he'd like.

"It's Arthur, right?" the Scholar asks. Arthur nods. "Would you kiss me?"

Arthur raises his eyebrows at him.  _What about the Gentleman?_  goes unsaid.

"Every day might be the last one, and I've never really been kissed." He shrugs, and his thin fingers mess with a fork on the counter.  _And now I know the Gentleman doesn’t care about me_  goes unsaid as well. "No hard feelings or anything if you don't want do, don't worry. I just thought I'd ask."

Arthur can feel himself blushing, the color in his cheeks thankfully hidden in the dim diner. What him and Grace had done was one thing -- that was life or death, and Grace is sexual and flirty enough most of the time that it didn't seem all that odd to suddenly be having sex with her in a car going over 80.

"Okay," he says, before he fully thinks it through.

Worst case scenario, he feels uncomfortable, maybe the Scholar's breath is bad, or his lips are chapped. It'll mean a lot to the kid, and with all the shit ahead of him, he may as well get in good deeds where he can.

All the shit ahead for them both, really.

The Scholar is blushing now too, but he's already pale enough that Arthur can see the red just fine despite the lack of lighting.

"Really?"

Arthur turns on the stool to face him.

"Yeah," he says. He thinks he should say something about how the Scholar deserves it, or how he feels bad for him, but he doesn't want this to come off as any more of a pity kiss than it is.

The Scholar turns toward him too.

Arthur cradles his cheek in his hand, slowly in case the Scholar changes his mind or isn't up for physical contact, but he leans into it instead. He can't look Arthur in the eye, but he's grinning down between them like he's thrilled, so he doesn't take it as discomfort.

He kisses him softly. There's no spark, or heat, but it's not terrible. The Scholar gets much more out of it than he does, shaking in his seat by the time Arthur pulls away.

He's about to ask if he's alright when the Scholar laughs with genuine elation.

"Thank you," he sighs. "I appreciate it."

Arthur smiles at him.

"No problem."

They say goodbyes and goodnights, and the Scholar leaves looking like he's got just a little less weight on his shoulders.

Arthur smiles. Grace would kick his ass, but she'd probably think it was sweet, too. He won't tell her tonight. Maybe on the road tomorrow.

He grabs something off the plate the Scholar has left on the counter. Just because he has food waiting in the room doesn't mean he wants this to go to waste.

Besides, Grace probably ate the corndog already, anyway.


	3. Steel City Nightfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11366391)

This stop is even louder than the campground for the first night. Better amps, more booze, somehow even more sex -- though that could just be because they're further in the desert and the  _smell_  sticks in the sand and the heat worse.

Slink's also gotten more forward.

"What's she call you, again?" he asks, against the back of Arthur's ear. His hands are at his hips, but one slides forward between his legs. "Was it 'Barbie'? That can't be right, there's nothing flat about  _that_."

Arthur grabs his wrists and yanks them off himself, but Slink is still pressed too close for him to get away while he's keeping his hands off his crotch.

"Could --" He huffs. He really doesn't feel like dealing with this tonight. "Could you keep your hands off me?"

Slink leans into him more instead, tucking his chin into the crook of his neck.

"I wish I could," he sighs, dreamy and dramatic, but he does step back enough that Arthur can get away from him.

Arthur gets his front to him as fast as he can. He still doesn't know how Slink always manages to sneak up on him like this; he must wait for the right opportunity, because Arthur swears he always shows up as soon as Grace leaves his side to go get them food or to go pee.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to spend the night somewhere a little more luxurious? My room, perhaps?"

"No thanks," he says as quickly as possible. He doesn't need any more room for innuendo or suggestion. "But thank you."

Slink fakes a pout at him and reaches out again, this time for his face. Arthur lets him, only because he knows he's just here for his daily try at him and he'll leave soon.

"I can think of better ways you could thank me," he mutters, palm on his jaw and his thumb rubbing very pointedly over Arthur's bottom lip. "But it's your loss."

"I'm sure it is," Arthur says. Slink's thumb is still pushed against his mouth. "You can go now."

He still feels like an asshole being so impolite, but it's not very polite to sexually harass people, either, so? As far as he's concerend, things are evened out.

"Goodnight,  _Officer_."

He pats the side of his face, not hard enough to be a slap but not light enough you couldn't call it a smack, and twirls on his heel, disappearing back into the noise and sex and alcohol.

Grace returns moments later, jumping back up on the hood of her car and holding another beer out to him.

"What'd I miss?"


	4. In the Crimson Halls of Kane Hill

He tries to explain to Slink that he didn't mess with the box, doesn't know _what_ happened, but he doesn't believe him. The leash has them both on the floor within seconds of returning to the campground for the night.

He toys with something on the panel and Grace gasps and staggers away, apparently free of the current still crushing Arthur to the ground.

His eyes have teared up and Slink is a blur by the time he finally addresses him.

"I am _so_ disappointed in you, Officer Bailey!"

It's the same overdramatic tone he always has, but with it, Slink sends another shock through him, lower than the last but steadier, and keeps it going while he drags Arthur up by his hair.

"Now, _Grace_ I expect this from, but you?"

Slink holds the controller in one hand while the other manhandles him, untangling his fingers from Arthur's hair to tip his chin up, force him to look up at him at an angle that lurches him forward with the electricity still pumping.

"You've been such a good boy," he sighs, as though he's actually disappointed. "It's such a shame."

He lets go of Arthur's chin and he falls forward, embarrassingly positioned; Slink has brought him close enough that his knees are on either side of Slink's boot, his chest is pressed to his thigh, and his face is craned up against his stomach to look up at him, despite his eyes rolled halfway back in his head. His muscles are too shot from the electricity to rearrange himself, which just makes it worse when Slink's black thumb shoves itself into his mouth.

"I think someone needs a little more training," he says. There's a distant holler, and Arthur realizes it's actually the not-so-distant crowd, some gathered around to watch whatever Slink is about to do to him.

Arthur tries to bite his thumb, but Slink's got a ring that his teeth clash into. It's uncomfortable, but he _tried_.

He puts the current at something low, not enough to be outright painful but enough he can't ignore it, and passes the control panel to one of his trusted lackeys.

Slink takes his thumb out of his mouth, thankfully, but then he's running it wet and tacky up Arthur's cheek. Tacky? Right. Blood. His mouth is still bloody from getting the shit beaten out of him at the hospital. _Ha_.

"What are _you_ smiling for?" Slink asks him, low enough that Arthur might be the only person to hear him, for once.

He hadn't realized he was smiling, but now that Slink has pointed it out, he lets himself beam. He's still high on adrenaline, he's sore, Slink wouldn't kill him so quickly, and, honestly, the buzz from the collar is starting to feel not all that awful.

"I've had a long night," he tells him. It sounds drugged and dreamy -- he wonders briefly if he accidentally got a whiff of Red, but the fact that he's wondering that means he probably didn't. Unless him getting distracted by this train of thought means he did. Who knows? He doesn't.

"Well, you're about to have a _much_ longer one," Slink threatens, and now his volume is matched to Arthur's. More distant, not-distant hooting and hollering.

Slink jerks him by his hair again and Arthur realizes Grace is still there, just watching. Looking worried, but not making any moves to help him (and good, he can handle himself and he doesn't want her to risk getting hurt when Slink doesn't have a grudge against her at the moment).

Arthur smiles at her too. He gets tugged forward by his hair again for it, but it's fine.

The buzzing at the base of his skull stops just long enough for Slink to drag him to his feet, and the buzzing starts again when he leads him by his hair into the nearest trailer. His, maybe? Arthur can't tell, his eyes are forced to the ground and the buzzing makes it so hard to think.

He gets flung back on the floor and the buzzing stops.

He's leaning against... Something. Not something awful. He looks around as much as he can and barely recognizes the thing behind him as a couch, probably, and hey, that's better than nothing.

It must be Slink's trailer; it's too nice to be any of the other ones.

Something hits him across the face. A hand? A slap.

"What the hell's wrong with _you_?" Slink scoffs.

Arthur tries to focus on him, but things are just... _Blurry_. Something in the back of his head tells him something's up, something's _wrong_ , but he can't find the right state of mind to address it.

Maybe he _did_ get hit with some of the Red at Kane Hill.

Slink's thumb returns to his face, this time to pull his eyelids up and down and check his pupils -- they're blown to hell, and Arthur's practically following his gestures with stars in his eyes.

He curiously trails a thumb back down to his mouth, and for some reason, instead of biting or fighting or talking back, Arthur opens his mouth absentmindedly and lets his thumb in.

Slink smiles at him. Something is off, but everything is too cloudy now. Arthur can't tell what's off, because he can't tell what's right.

The smallest bit of coloring comes off when Slink scrapes his thumb down Arthur's tongue, and Slink briefly thinks that it suits him nicely -- not that he knows that, of course.

"I'll let your partner know she needs to get you," Slink says suddenly, and steps away from him entirely. 

Arthur nods, because that sounds fine. He trusts his partner, even though he doesn't like this guy.

 _God_ , things are blurry.

Slink glances at the control panel tossed on the couch beside him. Maybe no more electricity for a bit.

"Good night, _Officer_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'wait what' u kno that boy has a concussion he got the Shit beat out of him


	5. The F***ing Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really late because i had food poisoning and then no internet but its Here
> 
> obvs not strictly in line with the episode but. shhh

His mouth tingles.

 _Everything_ tingles, Christ, but especially his mouth. It feels like... He doesn't even know. It feels _good_. Everything feels good.

He tries to kiss the girl again, but she's already moved on to someone else, so instead he sways in place.

Someone runs a hand over the small of his back and it feels like every nerve in his body is there, forcing his body back into the hand like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. He watches them pass, someone with dark hair and piercings and no shirt, and they wink at him but don't stop on their way into the bus.

The bus.

The bus sounds like a good idea.

Someone grabs his wrist before he can get up the first step, and something in him winces being held back, but just as much of him melts into the feeling of someone's hand on him, _anywhere_.

It's Grace.

She says something, but all he can focus on is how much prettier she seems than usual. She's always gorgeous, her wide jaw and shoulders and her harsh cheekbones and her smart mouth, he's _always_ got kissing her at the back of his mind, but now it's all he can think about.

She stops him. Says something else, probably telling him to focus. He _can't_. 

She stops him again -- he hadn't even realized he was still trying to kiss her. That's not like him, what is _happening_ to him?

"God, you're useless," she grunts, straining to keep him off of her. "You know what? I think Slink needed to talk to you. Go."

He doesn't like Slink, but he doesn't like how weird he feels around Grace right now.

"Yeah," he agrees.

She has to help him up on the stage to get to the back area where Slink is, and he's got his face buried in her hair and moaning about how good she smells the whole way, but eventually, she dumps him in front of Slink. Says something to him about 'I'll do it myself' and then she's gone.

He's realized he's on the floor. It's not comfortable.

"You're a mess," Slink scoffs. "You're pent up enough, they should have spared you."

Arthur doesn't know what he's talking about, but his voice plucks at him as intriguing rather than obnoxious, for once. It's kind of soothing, in a horrible, gravelly way.

" _You're a mess_ ," he shoots back. Slink just hums to humor him.

Arthur gets up and stumbles his way to the couch to sit. He doesn't want to sit next to Slink, because he's horrible, but his legs feel too much like jello to just stand.

The buzzing under his skin only gets worse without anything else to focus on. 

He finds his hand between his legs, and any worry that he doesn't mean to touch himself is washed away by the relief. His hands are shaking too much to properly grab at his dick through his pants, but he still has enough coordination to keep his hand flat and rut up into it.

He's forgotten Slink is sitting beside him until he hears a scoff.

"Would you like some privacy?"

Normally he would, but suddenly the thought of Slink watching him sounds like such a good idea. His hand won't be enough, he already knows that, but maybe having someone else there will help.

"No," he says, definitively, then hisses, " _Shit_ , I want you to watch."

He's only thinking out loud, not trying to get Slink involved, but Slink's grin gets wider anyway. (Has he always had such a nice mouth?)

"I like to think I have, yes," Slink answers. Apparently he thought _that_ out loud too.

Slink's posture shifts toward him, now all smiles and leaning in too close. Black fingertips settle lightly on Arthur's arm, the one that's barely moving as he rubs himself.

"I could even help, if you'd like."

Slink's fingers trail down his arm, toward the bulge in his pants, but don't quite make it there -- his fingertips stop at Arthur's wrist, but Arthur tries to rut up anyway. It doesn't work.

He doesn't know how to answer, but Slink is close enough Arthur can sort of fall to the side and bury his face in Slink's neck, mouthing at his skin and up under his jaw.

"Aren't you sweet," Slink mumbles, but there's no bite to it. "I guess I won't be helping you if you're content, though."

He makes a pained noise into Slink's jaw, and that actually gets a shiver out of him -- not that Arthur notices when he's like this, thank God.

"Would you?" Arthur chokes out. "Please?"

"'Would I' what?" he asks. His fingertips move leisurely over the back of his hand, lining themselves up with Arthur's own until his palm hovers _just_ above where Arthur's hips can reach.

"Whatever," Arthur sighs. "Anything. I don't care."

He's leaning into Slink more, his other hand relocated from gripping at the couch to gripping at Slink's coat. He's about halfway into his lap, actually. It's a good look on him.

"Well, I wouldn't want to do anything you weren't okay with," Slink muses. " _Really_ I shouldn't be entertaining you at all, in this state."

There's another awful moan, even more desperate than the last, and Arthur starts _biting_.

"I'll tear your heart out if you don't," he growls, and Slink shivers again.

It's mean to drag it out for this long, but he's _loving_ Arthur like this. Sweet little _Officer Bailey_ , trying to force his hand down his pants and acting like an untrained dog just because of a little spit. It's _adorable_.

"You didn't have to ask _that_ nicely," he jokes, but, since his teeth _are_ somewhere relatively valuable, he slips his hand fully over Arthur's and presses.

His demeanor changes instantly -- the bites become open-mouthed, panting kisses again, and the hand on his coat is pulling like he's now _consciously_ trying to get on Slink's lap.

Slink lets him. Helps him, even, when he struggles to make his legs work right to straddle him and Slink gets to palm his ass and his thighs while he helps Arthur settle himself over him on the couch. That makes it a little more difficult, because then Arthur is trying to press into everywhere Slink is touching him, but he manages to ground him well enough mouthing under his jaw again.

Once he’s on Slink’s lap, everything starts to blur even worse; he hears his belt, hears a zipper, and then everything is _good_.

Slink is stroking him, and he either got lube or something or Arthur _really is_ leaking that much that quickly, but he doesn’t care either way. His hands are soft, and firm, and Arthur’s eyes are rolling back in his head because this is what he _needs_.

He doesn’t know if he’s there for thirty seconds or three hours, but eventually, the heat peaks in him for a moment and he feels himself spill between them, into Slink’s hand and fingers and dripping down over the buttons on his shirt.

He doesn’t feel sated. He feels kind of tired, but he doesn’t feel _done_.

He’s too sensitive to rock up into Slink’s hand, and it doesn’t quite work when he starts to soften again, but he does it anyway. He shakes with it, with how much more he needs and how much more he _wants_ , even if he already knows his body won’t let him go that long.

He’s still going to try.

"Sorry," he shudders, before he forgets all manners entirely. Air is still so difficult to get in his lungs. "I'm... I didn't mean to ruin your shirt."

“Don’t worry about it,” he purrs.

Slink runs his fingers through the cum dripping down his front -- it looks gray over his fingertips, what an awful image -- and slides them over his tongue.

Normally, Arthur thinks he would gag watching someone _lick jizz off their fingers_ , but the heat in his belly still isn't fully gone and that makes it look _so good_. He wants to lick it off his fingers himself, or lap it off his tongue, or maybe just -- maybe Slink can shove the fingers in his throat, still wet from cum or spit, it doesn't matter, and just -- just make it a _little_ harder to breathe.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Slink asks, eyebrows raised, and Arthur realizes his face is much warmer than it should be.

More obvious than that, there's still tacky white on Slink's lip, so he --

He kisses him. It's _so easy_ , and it's so satisfying, and heat flares in him again even worse than before.

Slink barely kisses back, only opens his mouth and presses back when Arthur does, but somehow _that's_ hot, too, either because Slink is just letting Arthur use him, or because Arthur is doing all the work while Slink can lay back and enjoy watching him worked up, or --

Slink tears his mouth away. (It makes Arthur want to cry, briefly, because his mouth feels wrong without pressure on it.)

"Goodness, _already_ , Officer?"

Slink’s hand starts stroking, _oh_ , because he's -- he's already hard again.

"To be young again," he sighs to himself. (He knows it’s the stuff in him, but he still finds himself funny. He _is_ funny.)

Arthur tries to kiss him again to muffle himself, but it only works for as long as Slink allows it. Then he’s squeezing him just a little tighter, stroking him just a little faster, and then it doesn’t matter how much Arthur _wants_ to keep quiet -- his mouth falls open because he can’t keep the feeling down and he’s moaning ‘fuck’ and ‘Christ’ and _whimpering_ while Slink works.

It keeps going like that; Slink strokes him, the disgusting off-white mess on Slink’s chest and stomach gets added to, and Arthur slowly finds himself too exhausted to even sit up straight -- he just leans into Slink, arms around his neck so he won’t slide off, and keeps fucking up into Slink’s hand, now captive under him.

Grace eventually returns to that, with Arthur slumped over Slink's lap shaking like hell and still pushing his hips up against Slink. He looks _exhausted_ , like he might just topple over if Slink's free hand wasn’t settled almost fondly over the small of his back.

"He might be stuck," Slink says to her. "I'm not sure."

Grace grimaces.

“Gross.” She holds up a beer bottle, filled with something bright orange and glowing. “The twins are taken care of. Do you think he’ll need more than this?”

“No, that should be enough.” He manages to sit up under Arthur with him still wrapped around his front. “He’s going to be dehydrated, though.”

Grace makes another disgusted face, but hands Slink the bottle.

“I’ll get him some water. Do me a favor and get his dick covered before I get back.”

Slink grins at her.

“You sure? I think he’s still got some fight in him, I’d be happy to share.”

He pulls Arthur’s hips forward to prove it and Arthur hums, exhausted and overstimulated and still craving more.

“Pass,” Grace says.

“Suit yourself.”

Slink pulls his hand out from under Arthur with an awful, wet noise.

Grace stares at his cum-slimy hand in horror.

“I’ll get a towel, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic: happens
> 
> slink: [:|](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/73RmOhEyhFM/maxresdefault.jpg)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what if arthur has like a really hardcore sub kink tbh

The guy on the other side of the bars has bruises up and down his ass and thighs, and as soon as the attachment goes under the table, he starts shaking. Moaning, and arching his back, and struggling like he wants to be off of the table just as much as he doesn’t want the feeling to stop. If Arthur looks close enough, he can see the rope at his wrists and ankles have left months, maybe years of layers of irritation, puffy and red.

One of the women tells him to shut up, and slaps him across the face.

Arthur can’t be there. He can’t be that guy.

Existing to be used, only given attention when it means he’s going to cum for someone and be told that’s all he’s good for. The bruises up his sides from being grabbed and manhandled -- _ha_ \-- and the welts shaped like palms and fingers all over him.

Gorgeous women all just out of reach, never kind to him or caring for him or touching him gently unless it’s to guide his cock back into the machine.

He can’t let them put him there.

He might never get himself to leave.


End file.
